I live in a split-level house in Columbia, Maryland, that I bought a few years ago. It is perfect for me in just about every way.
First of all, it is big enough for my furniture and possessions that I gathered from all over the world during my years of working for the federal government as a signals intelligence expert. I have one room in the top level devoted to my Steinway grand piano. That room is two stories high with long, narrow windows facing east so that the room is filled with morning sunshine. Next to it is what I call the sunroom. It, too, has floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side, but on the north side, it opens through glass doors to the deck that runs the length of the back of my house. The western wall of the room features a gas fireplace. My reading chair sits close to it.
The middle level room, half a flight down from the top level, is the living room, dominated by another gas fireplace. The walls are covered with paintings from all over the world, collected during my years abroad.
The lowest level has seven rooms. The largest is the central room running south to north between the stairs and glass doors that lead to the patio beneath the deck. That room is my office is. In the center of the room is my nine-foot-long u-shaped desk made of tan maple wood, constructed for me many years ago by a cabinet maker. I’m in that room now as I write this blog post. It is here that I spend most of my waking hours.
More next time.